Pliable
by Misty Reeyus
Summary: Milla knows Jude, knows myriad different ways to make him bend to her will. If simple seduction isn't quite doing it, she might as well enact one of her other favorites.


"Jude! Dinner!"

Milla calls to him from the doorway to his room, clutching a bag of freshly purchased spicy chicken rolls in her hand. Clearly, Jude doesn't have any intention of cooking today—he already missed lunch, and even now he's still so absorbed in his work, hunched pensively over the diagrams and spyrixes laid out on his study desk. Not to mention, Milla notes with no shortage of concern, he's clad in nothing but loose, rumpled pajamas, indicating that he's hardly even left that desk since he got up that morning.

Jude glances up and just stares at her, almost as if in a trance, until his glazed-over eyes slowly focus again and he smiles.

"Ah, sorry. Just leave it here, could you?"

Jude shoves aside a few papers on the corner of his desk, and Milla obliges, approaching to set the bag down in the cleared spot. Now that she's even closer up, though, she can see that Jude definitely looks a bit worse for wear—his eyes are red and his brow is furrowed and frustration visibly scrunches up his face.

"…Jude, I believe you're in need of a break."

But Jude merely shakes his head, waving her off noncommittally. "I'm fine."

He's stubborn about this. Stubborn in a way that makes Milla both a little proud and a little worried. She's happy that he's found his calling in spirit research, that he has his own mission to see through, but humans have their limits, and she won't watch her boyfriend push his too far if she has any say in it. An occasional distraction can actually be beneficial to progress—something Milla herself only really learned during her very first journey with Jude and the rest—and at this point, Jude's not so much progressing as he is neglecting his well-being.

Milla is not going to budge on this, and she'll wear him down one way or another.

"Jude," she drawls, bending down and leaning in close until she's whispering it huskily in his ear. "Take a break."

Milla takes his earlobe between her teeth and gently bites down, playfully flicking her tongue over soft skin. Jude's breath audibly hitches, and she feels him shudder slightly as she takes it a step further, trailing her mouth down to start nibbling at his neck. His pulse noticeably quickens against her lips and she smiles into his skin, slipping her fingers up beneath the hem of his pajama shirt…

Jude roughly snatches up her wrist, but Milla doesn't miss the way he moans under his breath even as he shoves her away. He huffs petulantly, "That's not going to work."

Perhaps Milla would be more inclined to believe that if he wasn't already flushed so red.

So Milla chooses to take his resistance as a challenge, quirking her brow and languidly sliding behind him. Drooping herself over the back of his chair, she drapes one arm over his shoulder and slides the other around to his opposite side, and she can tell the moment Jude realizes he's trapped by how he suddenly freezes up like a spooked rabbit.

"I see," she murmurs. "That's disappointing."

But Milla _knows_ Jude, knows myriad different ways to make him bend to her will. If simple seduction isn't quite doing it, she might as well enact one of her other favorites.

She briefly but firmly trills her fingertips over his rib cage—and Jude jumps in his seat, something between a stifled laugh and a beast-like screech ripping its way out his throat. He whirls his head to glance at her over his shoulder, amber eyes wide with shock, and Milla returns his panicked gaze with a sly smirk.

"Fortunately, I do have other methods."

Clearly, Jude knows exactly what that means—he instantly makes a break for it, dislodging himself from her grasp so forcefully that the chair tips over. He really should have known better than to try running, though. It only makes Milla that much more determined, and he only manages to get a few steps away before she pounces him. She wrestles him down to the floor, her thighs securely straddling his legs as she pins him on his back beneath her, and Jude gasps and gazes up at her almost fearfully.

Milla doesn't even give him time to protest before she starts _really_ tickling him.

It's always so captivating, _mesmerizing_ , the way her touch can render him so helpless in a matter of seconds. Milla dances her fingers over his stomach and his whole form trembles from strain; she flutters them in his underarms and his laughter rapidly peaks into loud, ringing shrieks. His hands desperately swat at hers while she easily maneuvers past them, and his legs kick wildly and insistently as if he truly believes _that_ will be enough to dislodge her. But Jude's only wasting his energy by struggling, and after a while, it starts to show, his movements becoming sluggish, his efforts losing their strength.

Really. He's so adorable.

Finally, Milla digs her thumb into that one especially weak spot on Jude's hip—and he positively _convulses_ , tears brimming at the corners of his eyes.

"You're quite certain you don't wish to take a break?" Milla taunts. "Or perhaps I should continue until you fall unconscious?"

She would never actually go that far, of course, but just delivering the threat has him instantly squealing with protest, and Milla chuckles. A bit mean of her, sure, but she knows for a fact that Jude can take a little teasing. He _enjoys_ it even, finds a certain pleasure of his own in being reduced to such vulnerability at her hand.

"O-okay!" Jude weakly shakes his head, gasping it out between heaving hysterics. "Okay, I…I give up!" With that breathless cry, he even stops trying to fight off Milla's hands, instead bringing both of his own up in front of his face in a gesture of surrender. "S-stop, you win! _Please_!"

Milla certainly doesn't want to hinder Jude's breathing any more than necessary—humans are such fragile beings, after all—and she recognizes the white flag when she sees it. Her fingers cease in their attack, and she even releases him, rolling off of his body entirely to let him breathe a bit easier.

Jude turns onto his side, clutching his torso and wheezing, and Milla looms over him, smirking victoriously as she takes him in. His hair is all ruffled, and his face is a deep shade of pink, and he glares up at her and moves his mouth like he wants to say something but it takes him several tries before he can catch enough breath to do so.

"That…wasn't fair," Jude finally manages, the statement half an accusation and half a rather childish-sounding whine. He pouts up at her and Milla smiles softly, bending down to peck his lips in apology.

"I'm sorry," Milla says once she pulls away, and she _does_ mean it, to a degree. But with Jude looking as cute as he does right now, she also knows she'd do it again. "However, that served its purpose admirably. You were in need of a distraction."

Jude just grumbles, apparently unable to argue. Milla laughs, reveling in her triumph—until Jude abruptly shoots his arm up, curling his fingers into her hair and yanking her back down into another kiss, this one insistent, _heated_.

"Fine then. Distract me," Jude hisses, arching his hips up into hers, and Milla can't help but give a little gasp of surprise when the feel of a distinctive, familiar bulge brushes against her thigh.

Goodness. She hadn't actually expected it would work him up him _that_ much.

The shock wears off quickly, though, and Milla grins as she slides her hands up Jude's shirt, purposely trailing fingernails along his stomach just to tease. Jude's breath hitches and his muscles tense like he expects her to tickle him again—perhaps, Milla surmises from the tentative glint in his eyes, _wants_ her to tickle him again—but though she lets her touch linger lightly at his sides to build anticipation, she doesn't attack. Not now, not yet.

The suspense is half the fun, after all.

"As you wish," Milla murmurs into his skin, and sucks at the column of his neck until her name is falling from his lips in breathy moans.

It seems neither of them is going to be getting up anytime soon.


End file.
